


Labyrinth

by woodfloor_phoenix



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Obscurus, Post-War, Sirius Black Lives, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:53:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12978498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodfloor_phoenix/pseuds/woodfloor_phoenix
Summary: Hermione befriends the most caring man she's ever met, Newt Scamander, while struggling to live post-war with the inner demons of her unhealed past. Newt, unable to bear not knowing the future of his precious creatures, is on a time-turner mission to ensure their survival, if they still exist. Both find themselves, inexplicably, wishing he could stay.





	1. A Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twisted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312420) by [PennyKelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennyKelly/pseuds/PennyKelly). 
  * Inspired by [Falling Through Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4475078) by [wittyhistorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wittyhistorian/pseuds/wittyhistorian). 



“Crooks?”

Hermione hand-poured boiling water over the grounds as she looked up into the main room of her unit. Distracted by the sadness she felt seeing the purple and orange hues coming through the windows, she slipped some of the water on her hand. “Oh, shit!” Setting the pot down, she turned to the sink to run cold water on her hand. Scalding under the cold stream, she mumbled to herself something about how she should have been using magic anyway. Realizing she’d done it again, she sighed and rolled her eyes in annoyance. She reached forward and pinched a few leaves of dittany growing in a small pot on the windowsill.

The window was open. 

She whipped around as she spread the moisture from the dittany on her hand, “Crooks?” She set off through main room of the unit to the bedroom, craning her neck around the doorway to look on the bed. “Crookshanks?” her voice grew more shrill. She checked his lounging spot on the bay window, and the other on top of the hutch. Thinking he must have spotted a bird and escaped to hunt it, she was about to walk outside but realized she was only in a tank and underwear. She hurriedly pulled on a pair of jeans from the hamper, buttoning them on the way to the back door, where she jammed her feet into shoes and ran out. The screen door slammed as she made her way through the backyard, “Crookshanks? Crooks!” 

She wondered if this was silly, knowing he’d come back when he was ready, but she felt the panic fluttering behind her ribs and needed to find him. Just in case. She was out to the alley, walking past neighbors’ garages and trash cans when she heard a loud thud of something landing on metal, followed by a yelp of a young man coming from a tattered garage, whose door was slightly open off the ground. She started running as Crookshanks ran to her from under the door, jumping into her arms.

The cat was followed by the young man, who the yelp must have belonged to, who made the door fly up with a screech and had begun running out after Crookshanks when he saw Hermione holding the orange cat, fur standing up on its back, and slowed to a stop. 

“What on earth did you do to him?” She stroked the fur down, and looked up at the man, brow furrowed and lips pursed. 

He slid his wand in his pocket, and looked at the cat, breaking into a baffled smirk, “Well, it seems I may have bruised his ego.” He looked up at Hermione and his smile grew into amusement. 

She looked down at the orange ball of fur and immediately saw that it looked particularly miffed, looking away to avoid acknowledging the man, who was approaching closer. Feeling sheepish, Hermione noted that she probably looked wildly disheveled, hair a mess of frizzy curls and only wearing a tank in the frost of the autumn morning. She shifted her balance to compensate for her haphazardness by way of confidence, jutting her chin out. “That’s that then,” she began, her voice high and squeaky, “Alright. I hope he didn’t give you any trouble. Have a good da—“

“He did help me quite a lot, actually!” The man slipped his finger beneath his jacket’s lapels and brought out a thin, green creature about five inches tall. “I’m Newt, by the way, Newt Scamander. And it seems as if your cat was hunting this little one.” He poked at, or tickled the creature and it giggled, wrapping its long, slender arms around his finger. The man, Newt, chuckled and cast a momentary sheepish glance at Hermione, then returning his attention to the creature. “What’s your name, friend?” 

Hermione tried not to let her shock show, but observed him as he continued muttering to the creature as if it were sweet-nothings he’d say to someone he was cuddling with. He looked so normal, so.. human. His brown hair looked dewy poking out from under a light blue top hat. His nose had freckles, and he had delight dancing in his eyes. He was tall and lanky, his dark blue jacket a little roughed up. He was sweet, enamored by the small creature, his voice gentle and amused. That was exactly what she would have imagined, having poured over Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them countless times. His tenderness toward creatures seeped out of the pages with every word. She presumed that his eyes might be a tell-tale sign—people who did great things like he had... like he will have done... must have delight dancing in their eyes, like Dumbledore did. She thought of how her eyes have been so dull for so many years. Maybe being around him for a bit longer could help cheer her up. Lost in these thoughts, she continued staring at him. 

“I’m sorry Crooks got you,” she said, jarred, when she noticed the red scratch on his wrist. Warning bells rang in her head like headlines: GRUMPY CAT HURTS NEWT SCAMANDER IN TIME TRAVEL, 217 MAGICAL CREATURES GO EXTINCT. “I— I have some dittany back in the house if you’d like, along with coffee and tea.” Even if her panic was nonsensical, she still wanted to spend more time with Mr. Scamander. Something about his temper and his humanness, together with his evident genius, made him wonderful to watch, enchanting. She raised her eyebrows, suprised at her luck and at the flutter behind her chest. 

He looked up, “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Oh— oh, yes. Hermione, Hermione Granger.” Her lips turned up as she continued petting Crookshanks. 

He smiled, “A morning tea would be nice, thanks.” He fell in step with her as she turned to go back to the house, “And your cat’s name?”

Upon hearing her answer, he chuckled and lowered his head to meet the cat’s gaze, “you are quite the beast, aren’t you, Crookshanks! Thank you for your guidance and expertise finding my friend here. I’m sorry to have spoiled your hunt! I hope I can make it up to you.”

A confused grin spread across Hermione’s face as this strange young man continued to shuffle sideways, speaking to her cat who was still avoiding his advances.


	2. Books and Questions

Newt sat back onto a cozy green velvet chair, looking around at the plants suspended in front of the windows and the sheets of parchment piled on a desk. He started reading over the titles of the books stacked on the end table next to him: The Limits of Prejudice, A Giant Story of Friendship; Wizarding Law: Giants, Elves, and Goblins; Werewolves and Mental Illness. As he got lower in the stack, the books’ subject shifted: Trauma and Depression in Sexual Violence Survivors; When No Isn’t an Option: Consent and Mental Illness; Muggleborn Law through the Ages. Newt looked up at the young woman, who, with the flick of her wand, was zooming a kettle of boiling water to pour over a cup of tea. She had a steady, pensive crease in her brow that looked like she might be pondering something sad. He thought it was quite wonderful to have found someone interested in, what appeared to be, justice for non-wizards. She could possibly be a great help in his cause. 

But there was something more about her that made him glad, and nervous at the same time, that he was sitting in her first floor unit of this old brick house, sitting in her chair and staring at her. He felt a stange, uneasy floatinf sensation in his stomach that made him want to walk to her. She looked up at him, and caught staring at her, he stole himself and looked around the room again. As she floated the two mugs over to where he was sitting, following behind them and covering herself with a light sweater, he noted that there were photos of her with two older people, presumably her parents, as well as with two young men, one with black hair and one with orange. They were both hugging her and she was laughing a huge laugh with her mouth open wide and eyes closing, exasperated at their attention. There was another picture of a large group at a beautiful event, perhaps a wedding, under a tent. The woman, Hermione, sat down in the chair across his. He looked at her, feeling how he’d love to see her laugh like that. 

He smiled at her, and she flashed a small smile back at him. Her eyes were a dark brown, playful, but concerned was settled deep in them. He started, “I see you have an interest in law and prejudice against non-wizard folk?” at the same time that she said, “So what brings you to search for creatures in old boarded up garages?” 

He laughed a loud “ha!” and looked at the floor, wondering what was safe to tell her what exactly he was doing in that garage, in the year 2001, where he definitely didn’t belong, yet. He looked up at her and smiled again. Perhaps he would ask about her first, for now, but when he tried, all that came out of his smiling mouth was, “Thanks for the tea.” He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. What do you ask someone who you feel you already know for having snooped through their private reading? Sitting for a spot of tea in the woman’s living area, all he wondered is what has brought such sadness to her eyes? 

“Your book collection is fascinating,” he offered. She sharply inhaled and looked at the stack, a light blush coming over her cheeks. Glancing out the window, she gripped the arm of her chair with one hand and tried to flatten her hair with the other. Only a second had passed. He tried again, “What do you do, Hermione Granger?” 

She looked at him and with a slight smile said, “I am working with a few partners on a policy advocacy project, reworking Wizard law regarding non-Wizard populations’ rights, services, and protections in the aftermath of the war.” 

With that, Newt’s eyebrows shot up, “The war? But surely it can’t be the same one!” He tried to recall all that he’d seen since arriving earlier yesterday. No majorly damaged buildings, people had been smiling and walking freely in their cloaks, and this muggle side of the city didn’t have any sense of paranoia or panick. He wondered what had happened in the world, but thought he must be safe and his journey must still be possible. She wouldn’t have invited him in so easy if it was still wartime and wizards were either in hiding or turning against each other. He let out a sigh, and glanced at her. 

She was studying him with a quizzical gaze, one eyebrow raised. He knew that he was behaving too strangely to not explain. She could think he’s into dark magic. As he thought of how to start, the orange cat walked past and jumped up on the window seat to lay down, flicking its tail to and frow with annoyance. Newt inhaled, “It’s a bit of a long story, really, why I was in that garage. Do you have plans this morning?” One side of his mouth curled up in a smile as she paused for a moment. 

“I do like long stories,” Hermione responded. After another moment she added, “And I think that we will have more to discuss than you realize.” She was nodding towards his hand, which was fidgeting with the Time Turner. He must have grabbed onto it in his pocket when he was in a panick about the status of the war. 

He flashed a devilish smile at her and slid off the chair onto his knees, proceeding to wobble over to the window and croon, “Crookshanks, dear, have I mentioned that you are one of the fiercest hunters I’ve hd the luck of encounterig? I do hope you can forgive me and we can be friends.” He held his hand out slowly for the orange cat to sniff. After a few seconds of contemplating his reputation, it nuzzled its head into Newt’s hand and he began petting the orange coat with the other. “There you go, friend.” He patted the cat softly and felt warmth inside. He also felt the warmth of a gaze at his back, and turned around to see Hermione looking at him like she was choosing her path carefully. 

“Newt, you may not realize, but I think it’s only fair you should know. I already know a bit about you and your work.” She smiled at his look of surprise, “What year are you coming from exactly?”


	3. Bursting at the Seams

Hermione caught herself staring out the window yet again while at the office the next day. She looked at the clock—3:35. She didn’t know how long she’d been daydreaming. She had been remembering how Crookshanks was laying on Newt Scamander’s chest by early-afternoon, as the man laid on the rug on her living room floor, talking animatedly about his plan and lazily petting the cat. 

How strange it had been. She hadn’t told anyone about her encounter yet. She couldn’t really wrap her mind around it enough to complete a thought. She looked down at her notes for the day:

Grindelwald—war—1929—

American laws on magical creatures—

Attacks across Europe, danger—

Fantastic Beasts 1926—

Fear for creatures’ extinction—deep hoplessness of intense fear—ensure their survival

Time Turner—few months—secret—world travel

She couldn’t help but feel a steady twinge of tension somewhere where her chest met her stomach. She kept asking herself how he could leave 1929 when Grendelwald was so on-the-rise, and would be for another 15 years. How could he justify spending months on ensuring the longevity of animals when humans—muggle and magic, alike—were dying in surprise attacks of dark arta fanatics throughout the European continent? She saw her, Harry, and Ron back at that campsite for months on end, just a few years ago, struggling to stay friends, to survive, let alone to find bloody fucking horcruxes to destroy with no idea whatsoever what they were looking for or how to complete the task at hand once they even found one. The depression, the loneliness and insecurity, fear was always constricting her throat, threatening tears with each inhale. It had never left. And here was Newt, saving animals. The twinge in her diaphragm twisted.

But then she thought of how he had asked about her for so much of their day together. She had almost told him about it, the constricted feeling in her throat, the dullness of life each day, the way she sought the thrill of danger and love to feel like she was on the right path. Her mind went back to a couple of the men she had been with in the past few years. Reimagining the scenes of them behind her, pushing into her as she pretended to like it, to orgasm. And then Ron and how he had hurt her, and Sirius— She crigned and shook her head. 

She hadn’t told him, but it had felt so much like he already knew everything she had been through, or at least the magnitude of the problems, like he wanted to see to it that she got strong enough to acknowledge her pain, to overcome it, to laugh. She felt how his eyes had searched her face for so long, as she struggled to answer his question, “What are you thinking about when you look off like that, so sad?” How long had she looked at him, unable to reply? It felt like one of those moments that felt like eternity, even though it was only a few seconds in reality. But it had been more than a few seconds. He had looked imploringly into her eyes, concern in his brow and his lips pursed tight for a bit. Then he had looked down at her lips, which were hovering somewhere between being on the verge of spilling the truth and quivering, trying to hold in the sobs. 

Then he had started to reach for her face, eyes growing wide and changing the direction of his hand when he realized what he was doing. He grabbed her left hand with his right, continuing to stare at her. They stood facing each other like that, hand-in-hand, for a while. Her palm grew sweaty with nerves. The moment he had begun reaching for her face, she had felt the gravity in her stomach disappear. And as he grabbed her had, she felt like he may as well have been holding her to the Earth because she had begun to float away. As they stood there, the almost-queasy, floating sensation moved further down into the very base of her abomen. She had no idea what to do. She had forgotten the question. She had forgotten any remains of a painful memory. She felt like she could spiral out of control into a tizzy of spastic emotive noises and movements, but she held his gaze, breathing heavy. She must have had panic in her eyes. Panic and vulnerability. She had never been so bare with someone, held so much emotion right at the surface, enough that would burst from her seams if she was a sewn doll, and just.. existed.. in that state in front of them. 

She had become embarrassed and shy, breaking his gaze and pulling her hand away and starting to turn away, “Um, uh, ehm— well.” He continued looking at her, his concerned gaze unwavering. “Well, Newt, it seems that you have quite an adventure ahead of you! Is there any way I can help?” She looked back at him, and his eyebrows had lifted. He seemed to be coming back down to reality. 

“Ehrmm— yes, Hermione, yes. I think we’ll have much to discuss, very much. You must tell me more about the war you’ve fought, about this Woldeewar—“

“Voldemort.. Newt, I don’t know how much I should tell you. What if you— what if you were to change something that would alter history? So many people survived!” She continued, “Hmm, I’ll have to check out some books from the library about future-travel. It seems very rare. You must have found and performed some unique magic to be able to do this—“ He broke her off by chuckling. His eyes were dancing again, and she felt that flutter behind her chest for a second time. She let out a loud laugh, “Ha!” surprising herself, which only lead her to laugh more. He was laughing in return, a huge smile spreading across his face, his eyes locked on hers. He grabbed her hand once more and squeezed it. 

—Hermione jolted to awareness as someone knocked on her office door and poked their head in, Luna. “Hello, Hermione. I just wanted to let you know I was leaving work early today. I have an appointment regarding the nargles. Thank heavens. I’ve been needing to clear up this bunch for a while now! Anyway, I hope you have a lovely evening. Bye for now!” 

Hermione looked up at the clock—4:20—she grabbed her notebook and shoved it in her bag, getting up. She had some research to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I feel like I need to say—this is my first time ever writing a fic!! I just recently got into HP fanfic, and adore it, and I think all you writers out there are pure genius! I’m giving it a try here, and it’s been fun so far! I feel like I have a long-term and detailed vision for this story, but struggle write a short 800-word chapter! So kudos to all you awesome writers out there who have stories tens of thousands of words long! And thank you for reading, too!


End file.
